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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24009646">Frutta Fresca</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reynier/pseuds/Reynier'>Reynier</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Caffè Arturiano [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Arthurian Literature - Fandom, Arthurian Mythology</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>...e uno spicchio della pesca di galvano, Comedy, Crack, Gen, Slice of Life, mi dispiace</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:07:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24009646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reynier/pseuds/Reynier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Galahad and Gawain have something in common; Priamus suffers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Priamus &amp; Galahad, Priamus &amp; Gawain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Caffè Arturiano [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017424</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Arthurian_Server_Squad</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Frutta Fresca</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/beheadaed/gifts">beheadaed</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/secace/gifts">secace</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><em>Dice che sono pazzeska<br/>Sarà il fascino della tedesca<br/>Vuole uno spicchio della mia pesca<br/>Mhm, frutta fresca</em><br/>--Myss Keta, "Pazzeska"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    It was a slow morning for Priamus and Galahad, which meant they were sitting at their typical window seat in <em>Lionheart Coffee Co. </em>and ostensibly reading. More accurately, Priamus was leaning over and doodling in the margins of Galahad’s book, and Galahad was pretending to be annoyed by this. Right now he was occupied in drawing a blob which might, upon very close inspection, have been a man in a suit. </p><p>    Galahad was not so charitable. “What is that monstrosity?” He flicked at it in case it moved. “Is it a dog?”</p><p>    “No, no,” said Priamus, nudging his fingers away, “I’m rickrolling you. It’s very important.”</p><p>    “You’re what?”</p><p>    “I’m rickrolling you,” Priamus repeated, in case Galahad would have learned the word in the intervening seconds.</p><p>    He hadn’t. “That’s nonsense. You’re speaking nonsense.”</p><p>    “Rickrolling? Oh, man. Okay. I gotta show you this.” He patted his pockets with an air of hopefulness in case his phone had disappeared mysteriously and irretrievably. It had not. 
    Priamus' phone was a matter of some consternation to its owner. He had had a nice Samsung at some point, but on a business trip to Orlando he had lost it by throwing it at an alligator on a bet, and had never bothered to get another one. He could contact anyone he wanted via Instagram direct message on his laptop browser, anyway. </p><p>    However, Galahad had thought this was a travesty. It was incredibly important, he insisted, that they did not carry out their 3 AM theology discussions via Grindr facetime for any longer than they had to (Grindr was the only social media they had both had in common, although <em>why </em>remained a mystery to Priamus). So Galahad, as a birthday present to himself-- <em>not </em>to the reluctant Priamus, he had made that much abundantly clear-- had bought him the PopeRinger0k33. It was the newest in trendy pagers for people who did not want to be exposed to the impurities of life; it had also been discontinued after only three days for irregular operating system behaviour. Galahad thought he was very fortunate to have gotten a copy.</p><p>    Here was how the PopeRinger0k33 worked: it scanned any incoming text messages for content that could be considered offensive. If it detected any such content, it blocked the message and sent a sad emoji instead. This was not, on the whole, the worst possible design element. However it appeared to have taken on a life of its own. The PopeRinger0k33-- unlovingly nicknamed Gildas-- had developed a special reaction protocol for Gawain’s number. After the first few blocked messages it had begun to respond with a variety of worrying emojis that were not listed in the manual; it had also taken to blocking any incoming calls. Gawain had tried desperately to outwit it: he had texted Priamus in Italian, switched to Latin when that failed, and begun to learn Arabic when that did as well. Unfortunately he had somehow picked an obscure and archaic dialect of Levantine Arabic that did not succeed in fooling Gildas but did quite confuse Priamus, who was from Cairo. </p><p>    It did allow him access to YouTube, but the videos he was able to watch were restricted to a certain very select few. Most of them were TedTalks. One of the approved videos was, though, Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up,” so he searched it and turned off mute.</p><p>    “Okay,” he said, leaning over and shoving Gildas under Galahad’s nose. “This is Rick Astley. He was a shitty one-hit-wonder and now this song is a meme.”</p><p>    Galahad watched it politely for a minute. “It’s not a very good song,” he remarked. </p><p>    “That is true,” Priamus acknowledged, “but it is also kind of the point. The goal of this is to get people to watch this video without them knowing until it’s started to play. That’s called rickrolling.”</p><p>    “Thank you for explaining,” said Galahad. “Please stop this song, I don’t like it.”</p><p>    “Alright, it’s not a very good song. Just an important meme artifact.”</p><p>    “Whomst,” said Gawain, appearing behind them and staring over Priamus’ shoulder, “was playing Never Gonna Give You Up?”</p><p>    “It’s a fair cop, yer honour,” said Priamus on reflex. “Sorry.”</p><p>    Gawain pouted at the phone. “Gildas plays Rick Astley but he won’t let me text you a perfectly innocent picture of a badger?”</p><p>    “It could have been an innuendous badger,” said Galahad sharply. </p><p>    “I dunno, I thought it was just a neat badger. I found him in my trash. That was funny.”</p><p>    “He could have meant things.”</p><p>    “I think he just meant to eat my old shampoo bottle, really.”</p><p>    Priamus reached up to pat Gawain on the shoulder. “I saw the badger pic in the end, Gawain, remember? No hard feelings. I thought it was a very nice ba--”</p><p>    It was at this interval that his phone started to play a song. It was not a song that any of them would have expected Gildas to allow, and so Gawain and Galahad froze in shock for several seconds. Then a low female voice began to talk in rhythm. </p><p>    Priamus, triumphant at having outwitted Gildas, did not rush to hit decline on the incoming call-- from “gerry the blackmarket cd dealer,” as it happened. The voice continued to mutter words that were probably an attempt at lyrics. It was Italian, which Priamus knew all too well. </p><p>    <em>Vuole uno spicchio della mia pesca…</em></p><p>    “Mmm,” hummed Galahad and Gawain at the exact same time, “frutta fresca.”</p><p>    The world stopped. It stopped for Galahad, who had a sudden moment of mortified realisation that he had said the words “frutta fresca” out loud with the same mouth which uttered the name of the Saviour. It stopped for Gawain, who became horrifyingly aware that <em>he and Galahad knew a song in common. </em>And it stopped for Priamus who, in his haze of smug triumph, had accidentally pressed accept on the call. </p><p>    “Uh… hi, Gerry,” he said, as over his head Gawain and Galahad locked eyes with more intensity than either had displayed in any situation in their entire lives. “Yeah, hi. Hi.”</p><p>    “What the fuck,” whispered Gawain, his voice breaking. “What the flippity flappity fuck.”</p><p>    “Yeah,” said Priamus. “Yeah, I’m doing good. No, no, my old copy is still in good shape. Nah, I actually-- I actually have Spotify now. Yeah. No, I don’t mind the ads.”</p><p>    Across the table from him, Galahad was trembling. </p><p>    Priamus breathed out a sigh and leaned back in his chair. There was nothing to be done about it now. “Everything’s going well for me, yeah. Mhm, still working for Lucius.” He paused. “Oh, really? I don’t know, I feel like I’ve been around about as much as normal. Well, okay, I missed drinks last week-- and the week before, yeah-- okay, yeah. Well, you know, I’ve got a lot going on.”</p><p>    “Galahad,” said Gawain, a smile creeping across his face. He had realised that as humiliating as it might be for him to share a song in common with Galahad, it must have been a million times worse for Galahad to share a song with him. “Do you listen to Myss Keta?”</p><p>    “Well, I’m sorry, Gerry,” said Priamus, running a hand through his hair, entirely oblivious to the standoff occuring around him. “Maybe I’ve just found more exciting things to do than pretend to be turned on by Transformers 7-- no, no, I’m sorry, that was rude of me. No. No, I’m sorry. I recognize I should have said that Transformers killed the mood a bit. I know, Gerry, I know you would have turned it off if you’d known.”</p><p>    “No,” squeaked Galahad. “I don’t know that song. I don’t know that song.”</p><p>    “You said <em>mmm, frutta fresca</em>,” Gawain said suspiciously. </p><p>    “Because you were! I was just following what you were saying!”</p><p>    “What? Why were you following what I was saying? I could have been saying any of those lyrics! I could have been saying ‘do you want a slice of my peach!’ That’s the lyric before that one!”</p><p>    “I speak Italian,” Galahad said, his eyes narrowed. “I know what the lyrics--” He stopped, realising he had just incriminated himself. </p><p>    In the silence, Priamus said, “No, there’s nothing wrong with the second Harry Potter book, either. I shouldn’t have said that, that wasn’t fair to you. Yes, I realise I’m lashing out as a defensive tactic, and I know that’s to do with me, not you. Oh, well that’s-- that’s very nice of you, Gerry. Thank you. Gerry, I don’t get to vote, I’m not a citizen, but I would vote left wing if I could. No, I’m not a registered member of the BDSM party. BDSM is not a political party.”</p><p>    “That was a great sentence,” said Gawain, who hadn’t heard any of the rest of the conversation, “he’ll have a hard time.... topping… that.”</p><p>    Priamus placed a hand over Gawain’s mouth absentmindedly. “What is it? It’s… no, don’t look it up. Bing won’t help you now. Ow!” This last was because someone had bitten his hand. “Gawain, what the fuck?”</p><p>    “You put your hand over my mouth!”</p><p>    “You didn’t have to bite it!”</p><p>    Looking smug, Galahad nodded. “Sinners shall be sinned against.”</p><p>    “And <em>you </em>know the lyrics to Myss Keta’s ‘Pazzeska,’” Gawain accused, as if being ignorant of Myss Keta was one of the Ten Commandments. “So pot calling kettle black.”</p><p>    Still reluctantly clutching Gildas to his ear, Priamus was rapidly watching two spheres of his life head to collision as a bystander might watch two trains approaching each other on the same track. “Yeah, no, I’m not at home,” he said desperately, ringing out his bitten hand. “No, I’m at a cafe. Uh…” He paused. “Gawain, is your cafe an independent location or part of a chain?”</p><p>    “Independent!” said Gawain proudly. It was the only piece of knowledge he had about the management of <em>Lionheart Coffee Co.</em></p><p>“Yeah, I mean… I guess I would recommend it. It’s fine. It’s fine, Gerry, it’s not bad.”</p><p>    “Lying is a sin,” said Galahad.</p><p>    Gawain leered at him. “So is wanting a slice of my peach.”</p><p>    Things were happening on the other end of the phone which were stresing Priamus out greatly. “Uh… yeah, I’m with friends. No, you don’t know them. No, they’re not… criminals,” he said, sounding unsure about it. “What? What? What?”</p><p>    “Are you crying?” asked Gawain. </p><p>    He was. “You don’t want to talk to them. You don’t. No, they’re awful, Gerry, they-- they aren’t… uh… they aren’t leftwing. You won’t like them.”</p><p>    “Ex<em>cuse</em> me?” said Gawain, grabbing Gildas from Priamus’ slack hand. “What is this libel? My name is Gawain Orkney and I say gay rights.”</p><p>    There was a horrified silence. </p><p>    “Oh,” said Gawain faintly, after a moment. “Hi, Gerry. Nice to meet you. Yeah, I… I’m friends with Priamus. Oh. Oh. Really.”</p><p>    Galahad leaned across the table. “What’s happening?”</p><p>    “Bad things,” said Priamus, who was trembling slightly. “Bad, bad things.”</p><p>    “That’s-- that’s so nice of you,” Gawain said, his voice weak. “You’re always looking to meet new people? That’s admirable. I know many people and I’m not sure I-- oh. Oh, gosh. Drinks on Sunday. Well, actually I’m very busy doing something incredibly important.”</p><p>    “Please, Gawain,” hissed Priamus from between his fingers. “Destroy him. Please. But destroy him… nicely.”</p><p>    Unfortunately Gawain did not appear to be in possession of all his faculties. The Myss Keta conversation had left him somewhat the worse for wear, and Gerry was riding over the Alps with elephants. “That’s… really sweet,” he said. “But really, I’m fine. Oh, boy. Well, if you insist I wouldn’t be a bother. Galahad too? You want to meet Galahad? Of course, I love Galahad. You’ll love Galahad, Gerry.” He made an expression of traumatised confusion at Priamus, who simply nodded sadly. “Thanks. Thanks. Bye, Gerry. Bye. I’ll say bye to Priamus for you.” Then, with a triumphant force of will, he wrenched Gildas away from his ear and pressed the end call button. </p><p>    “I’m sorry,” whimpered Priamus. </p><p>    “I just…” Gawain seemed at a loss for words. “Drinks with someone named Gerry on Sunday with you, me, and Galahad? What? Who is he? Why is he so powerful? What did he do to me?”</p><p>    The sun had set on the light of Priamus’ soul. Well, he thought, I had a good run of it. “He Gerry’d you.”</p><p>    “He Gerry’d me? Is that what he did to you?”</p><p>    “Well,” said Priamus, perking up slightly in the face of a good joke, “he Gerry’d me a bit but I Gerry’d him a bit too. Always while Transformers was playing.”</p><p>    “Wow.” Gawain blinked for a moment. “Wow,” he said again. “Anyway, Galahad, I’m very impressed that--”</p><p>    But Galahad had fled. </p>
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